"Breakfast" the old man said as he set the plate of porridge in front of his mentee. The boy looked at the fruit that was arranged on top of the oat mixture. Strawberries. She'd loved strawberries. They were red. Like her rose. Like her dress. Like the blood that stained the said dress as he struggled to staunch the flow of blood, of life slowly seeping out of her. Red. It symbolized Love. Bunches of Flowers. Hearts, beating against eachother. Crimson lipstick. But it also represented danger. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Weeping. Blood. Loss. Love.
Red.